The longer I sat by myself on my Dad's dented WWII trunk, the more desperately I wanted to disappear. All the other girls at camp had pretty, new brass rimmed navy or forest green trunks with light pink, script monograms on top. Although I was proud of its history, my trunk had Dad's name, rank and serial number stamped in regimented ink on top.
As always, every August 8th, the camp bus dropped us off promptly at Noon in the gravel parking lot of St. Simon's School. Stepping off the bus into the hellaciously hot Virginia air was like climbing into the inside of a dryer. Hazy and 99 degrees already, with 77% humidity. Sticky yuck.
Anxiously, I sat onto of my rusty old trunk, longingly watching the steady stream of station wagons, parading by as my friends, family by family, were picked up by their hugging and happy parents. After 6 weeks away in the mountains, they were on their way home foe a celebratory Sunday brunch or sweet tea on the screened in porch.
Nervous, I tried to relax, and quietly plastered a pleasant smile on my face, as I had seen my Mother do many times when she was unhappy, which was most of the time. Many of the other mothers, as well, had similar smiles. The fathers, however, seemed to have only slight, closed lipped smiles on their faces as they were busy loading heavy trunks into the back of their station wagons.
Yes, the FFV's (First Families of Virginia) taught their children to always look and speak pleasantly to others. Never talk about oneself. Always ask about another's mother. Lovely social manners in public, but underneath, a different story. If you were what was considered someone from somewhere, as opposed to no-one from nowhere, you had social cart blanche. If you were not a consistent part of this 400 year old society, or a transplant, all it took was one social mishap, and you and your family were whispered about underneath everyone's hot Virginia breath.
Slowly, as I sat there by myself, I was surpassing embarrassment, heading into mortification. I knew if something bad had happened to either parent, someone would have told me. Great. Whatever was up, word was going to get around. Again. After suffering through bankruptcy, just what my ridiculously small family did not need.
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